


Stockholm, First Degree

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Stockholm [1]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris, Red Dragon - Thomas Harris
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I have a plan, and it's a cunningly simple one. Greg's been having nightmares, weird dreams, moments where his brain just stops, where he locks up. And I want to do right with him, so I thought, take him back to Vegas, help him around his old stomping grounds. Make peace with whatever ghosts are in his subconscious, so we can go back to living. What a horrible, manipulative plan, huh? Gee, I'm just a bastard."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pax

**Author's Note:**

> A play with inducing Stockholm Syndrome in these two. Scenario one.

Greg Sanders was very, very high.

He'd been high for a while, he thought, or maybe not that long at all. It just seemed like a long time, as if time had somehow squeezed through a tiny, tiny hole in the fabric of reality, and gotten all stretched out, twisted into a rope of ticking seconds lingering into minutes.

Mostly, he was trying to figure out what was going on, and how he'd gotten high, and well. Everything. All of it. Greg liked to think he'd know if he got into drugs, but clearly he had. There wasn't any kind of good explanation for it, and he couldn't be assed to contemplate the when or why or wherefore, not when he was high, wrists bound loosely by his side, and legs... somewhere down there. Yes, he was sure they were still there, because they moved when he told them to, and that was of the good.

He rolled his shoulders and they kept rolling when he was done. Rolling and rolling and rolling, and wow.

"Are you feeling better?"

Greg laughed happily, unable to help himself. "Oh. Yes. I feel much better." He glanced over, smiled at the man taking up the doorway with wide shoulders, chest, salt and pepper curls. He had forgotten not feeling so good, but obviously things were great now.

So much better.

"Good. You were having quite a bad day." The man was coming into the room, and he looked happy, which made Greg decide that he should be happy, too.

"I was." He was? He didn't remember. It didn't matter because there was the man, and he passed by the single lamp in the room. The light limned every edge of him, and Greg tilted his head against the pillows, humming. It was distracting, that light, making his eyes close, lashes fluttering for a moment before he opened them again. "Hi."

"You were." He was closer to Greg now, sitting on the bed beside him. "You look better now, too. Happier."

There was no stopping the laugh that slipped from his lips again. "I'm high. Really, really high. Why am I high?"

"You were in a bad situation. A lot of bad things have happened to you. This is to help you relax. Sometimes, the mind just needs a little space." He was petting Greg, fingers lingering at his cheek. With a sigh, he turned his face into that touch, humming with the joy of the feel of it. It was soft, easy, tender, and Greg liked that a great deal.

"Hm. I'm glad. I don't think I'd like being anywhere bad. Not for long."

"You were, but now... Now you're safe with me, Greg." Greg. Yes, he was Greg, and that made the man with the salt and pepper hair who, exactly?

"I'm safe with you." He believed it. He did, down to his core, and he pulled lazily at one of his arms, a leg, and then let out a sigh. "Who are you again?"

"Will." Will. That was a nice name. He liked that idea, a guy with a nice name. "What would you like to do today?"

Greg blinked, feeling owlish. Will was closer, sitting on the bed, and he could make out his features better now. The light was still strange, warped around him, casting a dark shadow across a scar that ran transversely over his cheek and the bridge of his nose. He tugged at his wrist again, wanting to touch, and gave a fitful sound, half-muffled, when he couldn't. "What can I do today?"

"You can do whatever you want." He reached down, stroked fingers at Greg's wrist, a shivery feeling that slid up his spine. "Now that you don't seem to want to hurt yourself, I can unfasten this. If you want."

Did he want it unfastened? Maybe. Maybe not, but he did want to touch. "Please. Yes."

"One, or both?" Oh, choices. He felt a little hesitant with choices, but Will was starting to unfasten one wrist. It felt good, cool air wafting across the skin, and Greg let out a sigh unsteadily even as he reached up to touch Will's face. The scar felt rough, ridged against his fingertips, and he followed it from start to finish with delicate touch.

"Oh." That was interesting, and he wondered how long he would be here. He wondered how he had tried to hurt himself, because he couldn't imagine that now. He couldn't thread thoughts together in any kind of proper order, either.

That should worry him.

It didn't, and the worry drifted away. He watched Will smile, a slow quirk. "Hi. Yes, you're clearly feeling better. So, what would you like to do today?"

Greg had no idea, and that made him frown a little. "What can I do?" Options would help. Being told would make it easier.

His hand was on Will's shoulder, and Will was shifting, leaning into Greg. "I've wanted to kiss you all day."

For a moment, he thought about that. He'd only just learned Will's name. Still, it seemed like a good idea. "Okay." Okay, because he'd already touched. Kissing was a step forward, right? Just a tiny one, a soft brush of lips against lips, Will leaning into him, and then a harder press. Will tasted warm, like food. Fresh bread, maybe? And Greg was hungry, which was an odd distant thought. It didn't matter all that much, not when he was being kissed, pushed back against the bed, and maybe he should have asked that his hand be left tied. That seemed interesting, except Will was working the tie loose from his other wrist, and then he could touch, put his hands on the back of his neck, pull him in. Pull him closer because now that he was touching him, Greg wanted him, and he wanted more touching. He wanted everything. He wanted deeper kisses and he wanted to be turned inside out for him, and maybe that was why his hands had been tied. Maybe he'd been hurting himself this way, and that was a worrisome consideration, but Will was letting him shift, and there was a hand sliding down, under the sheet. He hoped it was for something good, but then the waft of cool air let him know that he was being bared, and Greg opened his eyes, let out a sigh against those lips.

"Please." Please. Obviously Will was someone good, someone important to him. Why would he have trusted him otherwise to take care of him when he was obviously incapacitated? Greg couldn't remember why, or what had come before that. Vague memories, sure, of... of home, and Poppa, Isöaiti, and... something. A lab or, or gloves, or someone, and for a second he almost pulled back, thinking of the glint of light on silver frames, a disapproving frown, but then it went away again, and Greg felt happier.

It just went. Went and went, and Will kissed him again. Kissed him until lips on mouth turned to lips on neck, and a fierce whisper of, "I missed you," while a hand stroked his belly, thumb over his bottom rib. Oh, that was very good, and he mewled a little when Will nipped in lightly, just below his ear. He loved that, and Will obviously knew he loved that, so he let his hands slide over those broad shoulders, pull him closer. Greg wished his legs were free, so he could turn, wrap himself around that stocky body, get closer, but he didn't want to demand anything. Not when Will was making his way across, lips soft against the hollow of his throat.

His tongue lapped out, a bare touch against the skin there enough to make him shiver, quake. He's been there before and yet not, because everything was thick and hazed. Not real, and he let his fingers work their way into Will's hair, tugging gently at the curls because he was going away from Greg's throat, and he didn't want that. Not yet.

"Please...." Oh, please, and maybe leaving his throat was all right because that was a nipple, and he couldn't help arching his back up, gasping for breath.

Everything tingled, shot down to his belly and curled in his balls, sensation lapping over sensation, fabric against skin where Will was kneeling, Will's mouth sucking hard at one nipple until it tingled and burned before he moved back, just licked for a moment.

"Please." He said it again, but Greg wasn't entirely sure for what he was pleading. More? To be let loose? For something he wasn't entirely sure about, he guessed, and a spike in his blood -- hormones, adrenalin, whatever had left him so kite-high -- made it drift away again, just in time for Will to lean down and gently, so gently, scrape his teeth across that nipple, dragging a hoarse groan from somewhere deep in Greg's chest. Oh, that was terrific, so good, thick and sharp enough to make his head fog up again, but it was a fine fog. Everything was wonderful, and Will's hair was so familiar that it hurt and he didn't know why.

"Can I..." His voice sounded strange, drifting, thick. "Can you... my legs, I want to...."

"Yeah. Yes. Sure, I should have..." He moved off of him, then, warm and close but so far when he moved down off the bed to tease at Greg's ankles. It tickled, made him laugh, and when the first one was free, he pulled his knee up, planted his foot flat on the bed. God, that felt so much better.

When the tie loosened from his other foot, slid past the sole, he nearly purred, stretching out, lower back popping as he tilted his hips, turning towards Will. "Thank you. For watching out for me. What happened?"

"Someone had kidnapped you," Will murmured, and that sounded... very bad. "And you were being hurt very badly. He's dead now."

Huh. Greg smiled at him. "I'm glad. Because you're here now. Keeping me safe?" It was mostly a statement, but also a question, and there was a thumb rubbing his hip, slow, soft, careful. He liked that.

"Yes. You're safe, now, and everything will be okay. No one is going to hurt you." That was good. He wasn't even sure if he felt hurt at all, but he was drifty and floating, so maybe he had been. Maybe that was why he was so high, and Greg let his hand roam down his torso to catch Will's fingers, push them a little further down.

Right there. That was good, and he groaned, letting himself twist back so that he was flat again, legs sprawling open for that touch.

"I'm surprised you're interested in that." But he didn't stop Greg, just looped fingers around his dick and started to stroke slowly.

The sensations were so much more than they were, normally, as if all of his skin had been waiting for just that touch. His head dropped back, mouth fell open, and he panted, fingers going to clutch at the sheets in reactionary bliss. Yes. Yes, he was interested in that because there was something. Something about those curls, close-cropped, the faint touches of beard, the missing glasses. Something that made Greg want it very much. "Nnnnyeah."

"Okay." Okay, and it was, it made his dick twinge wildly with every stroke. "What else would you like?"

What else? He wasn't sure. He liked everything, and he reached down, cupped his balls, whimpered a little as Will slowed down. "Please? Please, please...." He wanted. He wanted more, wanted hands all over him, and now.

"I want to please you," Will murmured, kissing his side. Please him, that sounded so good, and more than anything, Greg wanted....

"Fuck me. I love getting fucked." He loved people who fucked him well, too. Mmmm.

Will licked Greg's side, slow and luxurious. "I'd love to." Greg felt the bed shift, and Will was leaving him, leaving the bed, leaving his cock, when Greg wanted more of everything. All of it, and that made him fitful, unhappy, even, but he looked up and saw Will taking off his clothes, and that was enough to make it better. To make everything better, because he was just the kind of man Greg enjoyed fucking -- stocky, thick through the chest and shoulders. Not bulked up, just naturally built that way, and the joy of it made him laugh again, breathlessly.

"Good."

Just his type. He was pulling off his pants and bending to get something, maybe, and Greg watched, drifting, shifting his legs wide and ready and petting the sheets. They felt good, soft, like they'd been washed so many times all of the new had been lost from them. He liked that, liked the idea that something new wasn't necessarily best, and he squirmed, giving a little purr of sound. That seemed like something in keeping with the rest of his head, that idea, and he liked it so much that he ran a hand over the sheet and onto himself. That was good, too, and he moaned, letting his attention wander off of Will for a moment so that when he climbed into the bed, Greg found himself a little surprised by it.

"Oh. Hello."

"Hi." Will was on him fast, a hand on his belly, his other fingers sliding down to palm Greg's balls. "Still feeling okay?"

"Yeah." Lightheaded, still reeling a little. Weirdly numb inside his head, but okay. Especially once Will's hands were on him again. Better than okay.

Feeling made the numb go away, pushed back, pushed through it until he wanted to hump Will, but there were fingers pressing against his asshole, slick and fast. He couldn't remember doing this before, but that didn't matter. Obviously he had, or he wouldn't ask for it, want it, need it so badly that he mewled, canted his hips up. His dick slapped his belly, and Greg turned blindly, seeking out Will, wanting his mouth pressed against his lips, and not afraid to ask for it.

"Please. Please, I want, you have to...." Kiss him, just kiss him, and the soft scrape of beard against his skin when Will kissed him, mouth on mouth and hard, was like a salve. So good, and he rocked his hips, side to side, trying to ease the ache of those fingers. They felt so good, hurt at the same time, teasing him, and Greg slid his fingers down Will's belly, looking for his cock, wondering what it was like.

It was hard to see, but he could feel, and wrap a hand around it. Will's fingers in his ass moved, jumped a little. "I will. Soon."

Soon sounded good, sounded perfect, and Greg whimpered. Whimpered, and pushed his ass forward, meeting Will's hand, the way he pushed his fingers in, in. It felt so good, better than anything Greg could remember offhand. He was still getting those flashes, blue eyes behind silver spectacles that ought to mean something, and he wished he knew why. The twitching fingers moved again, pushed deeper, and it floated away into nothing.

Will was moving his legs for him, fingers pulling out, and that was nice. Will had blue eyes, bright blue eyes staring down at him while he hitched up his legs.

"You're fucking me." It sounded drifty, and his hands slid down his own sides, stroking dreamily. "You... I need...."

"Tell me what you need." Will was pushing into him, moving slowly. It stretched, ached. Hurt, and he panted through it, starting to shake, his hands trembling violently.

He didn't know. Didn't know, and it felt like too much, too big, too thick, too everything. "I. I. I. Oh god. Oh god."

"It's okay." Will bent in, almost bent him in half to touch him, a hand stroking over his chest. Okay, and he was pushing in, pulling out, tiny motions that got him in deeper every time. His cock throbbed, twitched in time to every motion. Greg didn't know what to do, what to say, except to plead, babble out half-mumbled words that probably didn't make any sense, because he couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except squirm and writhe until Will was in so deep that he thought he could taste cock on the back of his tongue.

Maybe he could. Everything was sharp and enhanced and hard to sort out, but he was getting a good fucking, slow and building towards hard and fast like he wanted. Exactly, and he squirmed, writhed, got his knees tighter over Will's shoulders. There were shivers of sensation rolling through him, making him shake, and he sobbed, pushing up for more. More, god, anything, just more, and the slick glide of Will's cock brushing inside of him made him want to yell. Want it, and so he did, because he was close. Coming close, and pleading, begging, it was spilling from his mouth, murmured against every press of Will's lips.

He got fingers on his dick, stroking himself off, fast fast fast, getting that more that he wanted, and then some. So close, so close, and then he felt it, felt it coming, and the whole world went white with pleasure, entire body clenching with the force of it.

When he was finished, Will was out of him and over him, kissing him lightly again. "Everything will be perfect now."

Perfect. That sounded wonderful, and he let his mouth linger, let Will keep kissing him. Loved every second of it, and his eyes were closing in spite of himself.

Will kissed his cheek again, and then he was gone.

Everything was going to be perfect.

Just.

Perfect.


	2. Komplement

Bright lights. Bright, and shiny, and the most gorgeous water fountains ever.

They didn't leave Mexico often. Will liked their beach, the ramshackle house with its possibility of hurricanes and the wild ocean weather that came in sometimes. Usually it was to run into town for groceries if they did.

Crossing into the United States was even more of a rarity.

He'd left the place once, he supposed. His memory was still spotty, but he knew how things had gone, knew the scars he had, knew the issues he sometimes still had. Being there on a vacation was pretty nice, though. Very nice. They'd gone to Caesars to the water show, watched them feed the fish. Will had a thing about fish, and anytime they went into a big city, they inevitably had to visit an aquarium. Greg didn't mind. He thought the fish were soothing, and he liked the water. Being so far inland was... well. It was disturbing, because the sound of the waves, the water, it was almost always a constant in his life. The fountains splashing down outside the Bellagio weren't quite the same. It was still gorgeous to watch, but it was different than their peaceful seaside life. The most stress they got at home was when Will was fussing with a particularly troublesome boat engine.

He just wasn't sure what he wanted to do next. There was so much, and he was sure he'd never looked at Vegas like that before, ground level. There were old historical spots he wanted to hit for sure. Places that had significance, places he wanted to tell Will about when they got the chance. Maybe after he came back with the ice cream. He could wait that long, he figured.

"Greg?"

It was almost as if he hadn't heard it, except he had. He did, and for some reason, Greg didn't want to turn his head, didn't want to see who it was because it wasn't Will.

"Greg?" Oh, that was odd, urgent, and he turned his head and looked over. The face was familiar, one of his Vegas people of yore. That was probably why it had taken so long for them to get around to going to Vegas.

"Hello, Nick." Nick. That was his name, on the tip of Greg's tongue, where he hadn't even known it was.

How remarkable.

"Greg, you're..." He was reaching for him, putting hands on his shoulders, like he could, should? "You're alive!"

Yes, alive, and it felt strange, hands on him that weren't Will's. Why wouldn't he be alive? "I'm... Yes. I'm, um. Would you stop touching me?"

"Yeah. I'm uh, sorry, Greg, it's just you never came back from that damn vacation of yours. You've been missing for years." He pulled back from Greg, only warily.

He wasn't missing. He wasn't. "I was... I said. I sent my resignation letter." He was pretty sure, anyway. Almost. He wished that Will would come back. Will would know, and his head was aching.

"We never got it." Nick looked like his heart was breaking. "I mean, they found your car in a ditch."

And there was Will, walking up towards him with two cups of ice cream with spoons stuck in them. "Will." He'd never been so grateful, insanely so, because Will would know. He would remember. "This is... This is Nick. He thinks I'm dead. Says they found my car in a ditch. That was...." Greg never thought much about that, about what had happened. He didn't remember a lot of it, and trying was unpleasant.

"True." Will held one cup out to Greg, squinting a look at Nick. "Nick, huh? I'm Will Graham. Nice to meet you."

It didn't seem as though Nick was interested in his introduction that much. "Nick Stokes. It's, uh. Nice to meet you, too." Nice, and Greg vaguely hoped that he'd go away now. Get out of the way, and leave him alone with Will and the fountains.

"Greg was lost and hurting when I came across him. I didn't know you all thought he was a missing person." Will was at least doing the talking, processing it through for him. That was right. Scars, he had injuries and then he remembered Will, after that, after the hurt and everything that he never ever wanted to think about again.

"There was an accident." He didn't remember all of it. "And I wasn't... I was hurt. Sick. For a long time. Weeks. I didn't...." Hadn't been able to think, or something. "Head injury."

Except he wasn't all that sure. He just remembered being hurt and waking up, maybe. He remembered Will.

"Right." Nick's voice pitched softer. "Hey, what hotel are you guys staying at? Maybe we could catch up, clear up a little of this?"

"How about you give us your information. I don't just hand that information out to, well. Strangers."

Except Nick wasn't a stranger. He was.... Well. He'd been living in Mexico for twelve years.

Maybe he was a stranger, sort of.

Greg felt his mouth twitch upwards. "Will's a little paranoid. We could have coffee. Tomorrow, maybe?" Or Nick could still be working nights. "Or, um. That bar. The one where Brass and Catherine used to go sometimes." If he could remember the name.

"How about that? Uh." Nick looked at his watch, and then over at Greg again. "Seven tonight good for you?"

"Sure." Sure. They could do that. They weren't doing anything, were they? There was a show they were thinking about seeing, but they hadn't picked up tickets. Not yet. "It was good to see you. I'm sorry, that the resignation didn't come through. I...." He'd done something. "I wasn't myself at the time. Head injury." He thought he'd already said that, explained. It had been something. Something that hurt to think about, so that made sense, and Will was Will. He was sometimes three steps from a mountain man, if there was an ocean-loving version of one. Will had taken care of him, and still did.

"It's okay. We can talk about it tonight. I've got to go, but I'll see you both then." Nick was nodding at him, at Will, and then walking away.

He kept looking over his shoulder.

"Well."

Well.

"My head's killing me." And then some, just this low throb, and he felt unsteady. Not himself. It was worrisome. Greg continued. "I know you want to go back to the aquarium, but maybe we could go back to the hotel for a while?"

"Let's go back to the hotel," Will agreed quietly. "I should have followed up on everything better than I did. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. 's not your fault, anyway." He probably should have been better about things. Done more than just called to get his belongings transferred to a storage building, cared enough to do something about them, or to check and be sure his resignation made it in. Will probably still had the paperwork somewhere. His filing system was haphazard at best, random and nonsensical, but he could lay his hands on a given piece of paper inside of ten minutes. Greg could lay hands on a piece of paper inside of a day or two, so Will's seemed to be the better functioning attempt.

"We'll get this sorted out," Will murmured, firm, assuring.

"He seemed upset." Seemed like he didn't believe Greg, and he glanced around, Will's paranoia biting into him. What if they were being followed? What if... he didn't know what if, but he was worried, all the same. "I did resign, didn't I?"

"You resigned. Maybe they thought it was a prank?" Will shrugged his shoulders a little while they started to walk.

Maybe. Or maybe they hadn't gotten it; maybe their fax machine had been down, because his memories from then weren't that great. There had been a head injury or something. He'd been very sick, Will had said, and if he couldn't remember, that had to be why. Had to be, and he just kept gearing himself up until he felt Will's arm slide around his back, grounding him.

"Maybe."

"I love you. I'll get this sorted out." He pulled Greg in a little closer, and they were just headed to the hotel.

The inside of his skull throbbed, faint tickling, enough to make him reach up and rub at a temple. "I want to go home."

"Before tonight or after?" Will would take him home, too. Will would do whatever he wanted, including calling it a night and leaving Las Vegas, or anywhere else for that matter.

He didn't know. Didn't know what he wanted or how he could possibly go to that meeting, or what he'd need to do to avoid it. He didn't want to go. He didn't understand. "I don't know."

"After, I think. Nick seems to need to talk to you." And he did. He was sad and desperate, and Greg didn't think he could fix that. "Maybe after that. We'll go home. We'll go on a better vacation. But not here."

No. Not there, and not New York, and not Louisiana. Maybe Vera Cruz instead. They should stick to places near home, places that didn't require airplane travel, places that didn't mean he'd meet people he hadn't seen in years. "Okay. I mean. I guess. Just... Headache."

"We could travel the world, if you wanted to," Will murmured. "Rio. Vera Cruz -- that's a beautiful city of history. Paris, Venice. Anything you want that doesn't make your head hurt."

"I just want to go home. To our beach." His surfboard, Will's boat motors. Maybe they'd pick up a mutt or two on their way. Will always liked mutts, and it had been a while since Mal died. It was time to find another dog.

"We'll surf, and relax," Will murmured, promised. That sounded so nice, and it wouldn't make his head hurt. It would just be better. Vacation was a stupid idea anyway when they already lived on a beach and spent their days surfing, working on motors, futzing around with the occasional home improvement project.

Greg leaned into Will as they kept walking, and tried to relax.

One more night. They were due to fly out in a couple of days. He could make it until then.

 

The nap had helped his headache some. Not a lot, because there was something lingering at the back of his mouth, something that was bothering him. Mostly he still wanted to go home and forget that they'd thought this was a good idea.

He hadn't been crazy about it when Will brought it up. No particular reason; it just seemed like something he didn't want to do, but then he'd gotten to thinking about things, Lois O'Neill, Vegas, all the cool things he could remember. It seemed like a little more fun, then, so Greg had given in, and they'd flown up and checked into Balley's. Will had a list of stuff to do ranging from free to cheap, and a couple of things they'd need tickets to go see. There was an opera performance at WLVU, and Will kind of liked opera sometimes. Only sometimes, though, and when he didn't like it, he was very tense about not liking it. It was kind of extreme opposites of Will, but that was why there were things like tickets and DVDs -- it wasn't ever-present. Greg didn't really ask what the problem was, because he knew that together they had a bucket load of problems.

Now it was all getting called off, after dinner at the old place they'd sometimes gone. That Gil had liked, and Catherine and Brass. He wondered if Nick would be bringing backup, other people. The idea was pretty scary.

At least Sara and Gil wouldn't be there.

He had some memory problems between the accident and coming to with Will taking care of him. Even a little before that, because he'd been hanging out near Baton Rouge for a few days getting to know Will before the accident even happened. Will had told him that much, and explained how he'd ended up with Will to start with. Getting over Sara and Gil had been the name of the game when he'd gone on vacation, and Will had made that happen. Will had been there to put the pieces together after the accident. Will had taken care of him, helped him, had been there. More than Gil ever had been. More than anyone ever had been, flexible to Greg's whims. They didn't even fight, not real drag down, car door slamming, stomping off to the beach fights. Well, maybe one or two of those.

Even those ended up pretty damn nicely. "If you want to leave partway through, we'll go. I promise."

"I know. It's stupid to be so uptight about this. I mean. They were my friends, before." Before he'd found Will, and his life had gotten better. Different, maybe, but a lot better.

"It's not stupid. You left, severed ties. You're nervous about them for a reason, and it's probably why you left in the first place." Will smiled, sliding his hands into his jeans pockets.

True. "It just feels ridiculous, to be worried about Nick. He's... Nick's a good guy. He's the kind of guy you could trust with your life if you needed to. You know?" He had, more than once. Nick was also vulnerable in a way that tempted bad people to prey on him.

Greg was glad he'd never had that particular problem.

"Then maybe it's not him making you nervous. Could it be people you associate with him?"

Gil.

Sara.

Warrick.

"You know the year before I left sucked. I guess it's just thinking about that, to be honest. And I could have done a better job of leaving. Could have come and packed up my own stuff, resigned in person."

"Then let's tidy out what we can. I'll help." He'd do anything Greg didn't want to do. He'd talk to Gil, if he showed up, although Greg didn't think he would.

They were coming up on the restaurant now. For a second, he reached over and grasped Will's hand tight, pulling a little courage together for himself. He wasn't sure if it was enough, but it would have to do, and so he reached for the door, and they stepped inside. It was a nice place, nice enough that Will had called about a reservation for themselves and for Stokes. It was just a matter of walking up to the hostess and saying "Reservation for Graham."

She looked up, all blonde French twist and prettily pursed red lips and smiled. "Oh, yes. The other parties have already arrived. Just this way."

Other parties. He had figured on it, and he'd hoped that wouldn't be the case, but there it was. Other Parties, and that could be almost anybody. Dammit, he didn't want to see anybody, not even Nick in particular. They'd ask questions and dig and there were parts of his life he didn't like to think about, much less explain.

Will moved his fingers, reached for Greg's hand again, and walked with him towards the table. There was Nick, and Catherine. Catherine, he'd missed Catherine, and there.... Oh god. That was Grissom. He looked so much older than he had. If Will hadn't been holding his hand, he would have bolted then and there. Taken a running leap right out of the place and he would have kept running all the way back to Mexico, maybe even further. Maybe all the way to South America, just to be sure. Not Costa Rica, though. He could see the wedding ring on Gil's finger. Costa Rica was verboten, for so many reasons. Shame there hadn't been any man-size human munching bugs down there, and the second he had the thought, he felt bad about it.

"Hey, Greggo. I, uh. Sorry, I didn't mean to overwhelm you or anything. I mentioned to Catherine that I saw you today and then..." Nick shrugged. "I had to beat everybody off with a stick."

Will's fingers shifted, squeezed gently as if to urge him on. "We don't leave home very often. First real vacation we've taken in a while. I'm, uh, actually only half familiar with you all," Will said as he slid into the chair near the wall, leaving Greg the outer edge. There were so many reasons to love Will, and that was just one of them.

"Wow, nice to know we're just that forgettable." It was half a joke, but Catherine meant it. Greg could tell. "I mean, you didn't even tell us where you went. We've looked for you for years, Greg. My God, the segment on you just ran on repeat for America's Most Wanted last week!"

He had no idea how to defend himself against that. "I... I faxed in my resignation, called and had somebody put my stuff into storage. I thought. I...."

"We didn't know. Your landlord said he'd just put your stuff into storage like it was his idea, and we never got a fax. You could have called." Nick sounded like he wasn't trying to chide Greg, that he was still concerned or worried. "We're just. Glad you're okay. What've you been up to?"

Gil was watching him, watching Will, like they were suspects.

It made him nervous, and it made him angry. Gil didn't have any right; he hadn't had that right since he proposed to Sara, even if Greg had granted full rights to him until he went running off to South America. "I... There was an accident. I was on vacation." He glanced over at Will. "Mardi Gras, wasn't it?"

"Mardi Gras," Will confirmed, easily. "The accident was... not Mardi Gras, but I took care of Greg afterwards."

"What kind of accident?" Catherine was eyeing them both even as a waitress came over and seemed to startle Gil into action. Or voice. She took light orders from all of them, things to drink and easy steaks that meant Greg didn't have to think hard about what he wanted and didn't want. Will got chicken something.

"It's been a long twelve years without you, Greg."

The way Gil said it tugged at him, hurt him. He wanted to say something sharp back about how it had been a long six months without Gil, finding a new apartment, moving his crap by himself because even when it was over he couldn't let anybody know that he'd been living at Gil's townhouse. He wanted to, but he managed to bite it back.

"There was an accident." He didn't know what kind, but Nick had said they'd found his car in a ditch. "My car. I hit my head. There's a lot I don't remember."

Nick leaned forward. "Yeah. They found your car in a ditch, near 'bout in a pond. The local hospitals didn't have any record of you coming in, none of the doctors we talked to, nobody. You just kind of disappeared."

"He didn't disappear so much as he was with me," Will shrugged. "I move around a lot, or I used to. We've been settled down for the last eleven years or so." He wasn't telling them where, and Greg understood that in a way that said there was a reason he wasn't telling them.

"What?" Gil's mouth pursed, and he was looking at Will hard. Will was like a thin sharp mirror to Gil, a little younger. Greg had always thought that familiarity was his door prize for not going crazy when the stuff with Sarah had first started.

"It was just a bad time. I mean, there was a reason I asked for the time off to start with." He'd been miserable, and the shrink who'd come in after Warrick's death had suggested he take some time off for himself. It had taken him a while to get the idea, but he'd finally done it, and it had been good. Good for him. He'd gotten Will out of it, even if there had been disaster in the meantime. There had to be something good about that, right?

"Warrick," Catherine murmured, looking at Greg with a different sort of sharp look, a pointed gaze. "And you leaving, Grissom. Everything changing too fast."

"So you just didn't come back?" Nick sounded wounded, astonished, but. There it was. "Okay."

Greg shrugged, glanced at Will. "I wasn't exactly myself. For a while. Apparently I hit my head pretty hard. I don't remember a lot for... I don't know. Two or three weeks? Maybe a little over a month. Just random stuff, nothing that meant anything. Will knows more."

"What do you do, Mr. Graham?" Gil asked, instead, still looking hard at him.

"I'm former FBI. I fix boat engines now. Have a little business for myself from the settlement money." Will gestured with his thumb, traced over one of the scars that Greg thought made him look rakish, across his nose and skidding over his cheek. "I put Hannibal Lecter away."

He could have made a joke about how he apparently had a thing for guys who had problems with serial killers, but getting in a dig towards Gil at Will's expense wasn't on his plate. "And he did some entomology work. What can I say? I like smart people."

Catherine darted a glance at Gil, and huh. Maybe she'd known more about what had been going on than Greg had ever thought. "Well. I never doubted that. So fill us in. Tell us what you've been doing, and I swear you're lucky I don't take you over my knee for not calling. Seriously, Greg."

It was hard not to give a startled little laugh while he focused on Catherine. God, Lindsey had to be how old now? And had Sara and Gil ever had kids, or were they just still together? "I really should have followed up on it better while Greg was still recovering."

"Greg's never been irresponsible. Not in large ways." Gil could toss water on a fire from twenty feet away. "Dancing around in showgirl head dress is one thing. Disappearing without a word is entirely something else."

The waitress appearing with drinks didn't make him feel any better about things. He licked his lips and shook his head. "I told you. I wasn't myself for a while. Whole weeks. I just, I faxed in my resignation. I probably still have the paperwork someplace. Now I teach English classes and help out the local policía sometimes when they're short-handed. I'm pretty sure they would have requested information when they did background checks."

Will took a sip of his drink, looking over at Gil. "I'm sure they did. The hospital back home said Greg's problems are fairly normal for a traumatic brain injury."

"But we checked every hospital in a hundred mile radius. I mean, I guess we must've missed one." But Nick was frowning, and Greg's heartbeat picked up a little. "Which one was it? I can't imagine how we missed it."

"Could we please talk about something else? Otherwise, I can just go back to the hotel and write all of this down in an email." His nerves were screaming, and he wanted to go. Wanted to leave now, but he was afraid if he did, they'd... he wasn't sure. Follow them home or something, and that wasn't, he didn't want that. He didn't want any of them near their home, his classroom, none of that.

He just wanted to teach his English lessons and surf and loaf and not feel the crushing pressures that made his head hurt. "Sure, of course. What do... do you have any questions?" Catherine asked. It was almost gentle, and it made him so grateful it hurt.

"Why don't you tell me about everybody? I mean, I'm guessing Gil's, what? Back? Retired? And you guys, you were in charge of night shift. How's Brass?"

Nick grimaced a little, a tension that told Greg the answer before he heard the words. "Jim died last year. Heart attack."

God. He had never thought... but then, that was how things went. Nobody thought about it until it happened. "Did, um. Ellie show up?" Probably not. Last thing Greg knew, she was hooking in L.A., strung out on drugs. That sucked. Brass was a private kind of guy, and it had to hurt, everybody knowing about his daughter. "Ellie's his daughter," he explained for Will. "Brass used to be in charge of night shift, but he went back to being a detective when I was, I don't know. Twenty-five, maybe?"

"Ellie actually came. She's kind of got her act together. She's clean." There was a wince around Nick's eyes when he said it that suggested that she'd maybe traded heroin for alcohol, but hell. That was genetic from Brass, wasn't it?

"Things have gone pretty well," Catherine smiled. "In a general sense. Lindsey's decided she wants to conquer the world. She's in law school."

That was awesome, kind of. "Well, she's smart enough." Greg couldn't help grinning. "And if she's got still got so much of your personality, she'll be kicking ass and taking names and making guys want to kiss her open-toe pumps before she's done with them."

That made Nick laugh, and Catherine kick gently at his ankle. "Man. She's something else. You've really missed out."

Gil was sitting quietly, turning his glass in a slow circle. It was almost maddening, and he kept peeking at Will, until Catherine jostled him. "And you. Grissom has actually spawned."

"You say that like I did the hard work, Catherine."

Wow. That was distinctly unpleasant, the sharp prick of hurt and jealousy that shouldn't have been there. Never should have. It wasn't like Greg or Will had ever talked about kids. Hell. A trip into Chiapas, they could buy a kid to adopt easier than trying to go through the adoption process in the U.S. "That must be nice." Or something, anyway, because seriously. Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom as parents.

What emotionally stunted little creature were they bringing up between them? There was no way it wouldn't be, or... well, maybe there was. Maybe he was just being a bastard inside of his head. "Just one. Timothy. He's eleven."

They sure as hell hadn't wasted any time. "Bet he's got bug collections already." And psychopathic tendencies.

The waitress came back with their order, finally, and Greg thought that he didn't even want it. He just wanted to get drunk, go back to the hotel, curl into Will, and go home. Wow. That sucked, and it was amazingly stupid on top of that. He'd spent twelve years with Will, and it was good. They were good; Will was so much better for him than Gil had ever been. He just didn't have anything he could show in a picture at a dinner table. He had a life, though, and it was his, and the stressed feeling was going down finally. Finally.

"Hates them," Gil confessed. "He wants to be a veterinarian."

"Huh." So maybe it wouldn't be an introverted little psychopath. Maybe he should tone down the bitching. Or maybe he should just shoot a look at Will, give him a smile, and get one back. That helped.

Greg cleared his throat. "Anyway. How's Hodges? Still dragging out television trivia? He hasn't started a sci-fi battle with Archie lately?"

"Hodges is, uh. Lab coordinator for the FBI in town, actually," Nick offered.

David was a great kiss-ass but Greg never would have thought that he'd end up in a job like that. He was just too quirky. "Huh. I really thought he had a thing going with Wendy. Or, well, he was trying."

"And seeing as office romances are frowned on..." Gil cleared his throat a little when Nick said that. "He went elsewhere. They dated on and off for a while, and they got married about six years ago."

"God, don't tell me that they decided to breed, too." It was out of his mouth before he thought about it, vaguely appalled, because seriously. He left town and everybody thought they were rabbits.

Why hadn't anybody wanted to be rabbits before that?

Catherine smirked and leaned forward a little. "You can stop worrying."

"No, they're decidedly kid free. Wendy made him get a vasectomy. Which we all heard too much about." Nick smirked, cutting into his steak. Will was watching them eat -- not them, but the food, and then he broke off and went back to his own salad. Greg supposed it said a lot about him that he was watching Will watch them. He wondered what he was thinking, if it mattered, if it made things different. If he would see Greg differently after this, and so he gently nudged Will's knee with his own and smiled at him when he looked up.

"Yeah, well, that's probably for the best. I mean. Can you imagine little Hodges running around?"

Will smiled and nudged Greg's knee back. He sat up a little taller, the curve of his lips easy on his face.

"I'd rather not," Catherine laughed. "A lot's changed."

"So tell me about it." Maybe he could make it through dinner without wanting to run all the way back to the hotel. Will was there, so it was okay. It would be fine. Will was quiet and supportive and there for him just then. It was Greg's friends, Greg's show. Greg's catching up to do, and so they did. It wasn't bad, not the way he'd been afraid it would be. Just a lot of talking, laughing, and remembering people they'd all known. Doc Robbins was retired, David was head coroner these days, and divorced, which was kind of crazy. If everybody else in the entire lab had gotten divorced, it wouldn't have surprised him any more than the idea that David was. Archie was working down in Atlanta, and Jacqui was back on nights again.

It was nice, hearing these things, and he didn't wonder why he hadn't thought about it before now.

Traumatic brain injury, Will would say with a shrug, and Greg supposed that was so. He was missing pieces of himself, and Will could only poke into shape the pieces he knew about, not the ones he didn't. And he did, he did a lot with Greg when he faltered, but this wasn't his forte.

Will shifted, tapped Greg's shoulder gently as he got to his feet. "I'll be right back."

The idea of being left alone with people who used to be his friends -- more than, in Gil's case -- shouldn't make that spike of panic rise up in him. "Sure." No problem. None at all. He was cool as ice.

Ha.

Nick watched Will go, and seemed to relax a little. "So. You really love this guy, huh?"

There was a fifty-fifty change that Will was either going to the bathroom getting air and headspace for himself, or he was being queasy about unidentified meat sources. Well, or he really had to go pee, but that made it thirty-three, thirty-three, thirty-three, bar, and fifty-fifty was just tidier.

"Yeah." Yeah, he did, because Will was.... Will just was. He'd never questioned it, and starting now seemed like a bad idea. "I met him at Mardi Gras. We spent a few days together, had a good time, and he was there. After the accident. I, uh. I couldn't, I wasn't able to put the pieces together afterwards for a while. He was pretty awesome for a guy who'd only known me a week or so."

Catherine was eyeing him, and there went that spike of nerves again. "I'll just bet he was. It didn't occur to him to call somebody in your cell phone contact list?"

Jesus. "I'm... I don't, I think I lost it. In New Orleans." It wasn't true, but he wasn't sure about what had happened to it. He hadn't ever thought to ask.

Gil leaned forward a little. "Greg, if there's something I can do for you, anything you need help finding out... You disappeared, and it worries us, even though you're still alive."

"I didn't disappear!" Except maybe he kind of had. "I know if I look through the papers at the house, I'll find a copy of my resignation. Somewhere. I remember writing it, and, and faxing it, because I was, I couldn't...."

"Man, no. Seriously. You did. No way were you in any hospital in Louisiana, 'cause we called every one. I drove down there for a week." Nick was intense, and all of them seemed too close.

"We're just worried that maybe the accident was Will," Catherine said quietly.

The headache that had been beating somewhere deep in his head came back with a vengeance, forcing its way into his eyes for a second before he closed them, reached up to rub at them both. "That's just stupid. If you'd think about it, you'd see why."

Except...

He didn't remember. There were a lot of things he didn't remember, and anything past driving down to Baton Rouge was on the list.

It wasn't right. What they were suggesting, it was just wrong. Will treated him like he was gold. He loved Greg, fiercely, and....

"I'm sorry, Greg. It's just. So suspicious." Catherine was still talking, but Gil got up from the table, walking away because that was what Gil did in Greg's experience. It made it safer to say what he was thinking.

"Yeah, well, so was me living with Gil and Sara for nine months, and nobody asking why I wasn't inviting people to hang out anymore. And okay, nine months, twelve years, but Jesus. Is it any wonder I left and didn't come back?" He pushed back his chair, because he wanted to go find Will. He wanted to go home.

"Man, we knew you were living at Gil's place. Do you think we're stupid? Just, you know. I figured you'd say something when you were ready and.... I don't know." Nick was on the verge of standing up, looking directly across at him.

"Wait, you were living with Gil and Sara?" Catherine pivoted on Nick. "I didn't know."

Nick snorted. "Come on, Cath. They all arrived a real careful five minutes apart on any given night. Plus, uh. Gil answered the wrong cell phone one morning. I didn't know about the Sara part until after she took off, though. So."

"So it's none of your damned business. You're all people I knew twelve years ago. You're people I left behind, so what makes you think this, me, Will, is your business?"

"Because the Bureau wrote him off as crazy years ago," Nick supplied. "I looked him up. He's certifiable, Greg. Well, not certified, but they watch him for a reason" And if they'd watched him close enough, they would have picked out if he had done something bad.

Something to Greg.

...no.

"No. No, no, I..." He reached up, rubbed his eyes again, hard. "You're making this all wrong. You're making it something it isn't. I..." He had to go. The chair scooted back so hard it hit another one, and he shook his head. "I have to...." Bathroom.

He had to find Will.

He had to go.

He'd find Will and leave. Just because he didn't want to roll his life out for them to look at, why it was suddenly under question?

And okay, Will had told him about his FBI life and all the shit that had gone wrong so if they were watching him, they would've seen and stopped Will if he was that crazy. Greg had met some of the FBI people passing through. No one had waved flags in the air like Nick and Catherine and Gil had.

The bathroom was tucked near the back of the place, and he pushed open the door, only to be assaulted by the sound of Gil in full storm. He'd only seen it once or twice, and it used to turn him on. Tonight, it just made him want to scream.

"--and I don't give a damn what you say happened, because Greg would never, ever walk away like that. You're lying, and you've got a plan. There's a reason you're here, and it's not a vacation."

"You're right, Grissom. I have a plan, and it's a cunningly simple one. Greg's been having nightmares, weird dreams, moments where his brain just stops, where he locks up. And I want to do right with him, so I thought, take him back to Vegas, help him around his old stomping grounds. Make peace with whatever ghosts are in his subconscious, so we can go back to living. What a horrible, manipulative plan, huh? Gee, I'm just a bastard. I'm worried for him. He's got a long standing traumatic brain injury, and the doctors back home say that he's stable, but mental processes are a slippery bastard."

"I don't believe you." As simple as that, and Greg stood in the door, ignored, watching them. "Greg would never have left. Not willingly, and there were absolutely no records of him at any hospital in Louisiana. Or Mississippi." They were face to face, and it was deeply disturbing to look at them that way. "We used to go on vacation just to search for records on him, so don't tell me you didn't do something to him to start with."

"I didn't do anything to him. And I took him to a hospital in Mexico because that's where I live, that's where I finally caught up with the guy who took him. You want to know what happened? A serial killer had him. And he fucked him up real bad. I didn't even know his car had been... whatever, wherever you found it." Will was snapping, sharp staccato words that meant he was moving fast, recounting, talking it out. It was when he was slow and deliberate that he was scarier. "I told him he'd been in an accident, which was true, though it was more of an extended beat down, fuck up, I don't know what. And the FBI knows because I picked up the case on consult with them. You can check the files. It was why I was in New Orleans in the first place."

Every drop of blood in his body seemed to drop down towards Greg's feet. He backed out of the door, letting it close quietly before he sat down, back against the wall. The headache was worse, and with it came sharp images of things he didn't recognize.

Didn't want to recognize.

Had purposely wiped out, probably.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"Shit." Will was just there, out of nowhere. He wasn't asking him if he was okay, or, or, anything small and stupid because he knew Greg had heard and there was no unhearing. He was there, and he was sliding an arm around Greg. "Hey, hi. It's okay."

Except it wasn't. It really wasn't, because how had he not thought about any of that, wanted to know what was wrong, wondered about things he didn't remember, thought about a place that was home? He opened his mouth, and nothing came out but a vague, cracked noise, and God.

Oh God. All of those things, fucked up and horrible, in his head. Happening to him, and on the other edge of that was Will. Will, making him laugh, making him the center of his attention, helping him, trying and failing to surf, but trying, companionship and love, and holding him even then. "I'm sorry."

Sorry, and that explained so much. It all did, the scars he never wanted to ask about or the way he'd come to himself, and he still remembered those days, half flashes where he was mostly drugged, numb or maybe a little high, rooms with a single light source, and Will. Always Will, and not... not HIM, not that other, and oh God.

Gil was talking, saying something, and Greg couldn't make sense of it. He couldn't make sense of anything, nothing at all. Just Will's fingers in his hair, stroking, quiet apologetic noises because fuck, that hurt, hurt to remember, to process but not process, and maybe Will knew that, too. Maybe that was why he never told him, why he made sure he wouldn't want to know, and Greg kind of wanted to puke or maybe cry. Maybe even both, and he didn't care if they were gathering a crowd. He didn't care about much of anything, just....

"Wanna go home."

It didn't even sound like himself. It didn't sound like the self that was there, Vegas, nor the self that lived in Mexico, and he didn't know how to make those things work. How to make them the same, when he'd thought all along that they already were.

"I'll take you home. And you, Grissom, just stay the hell away." Will was helping him up, helping him move towards the door. Gil was saying something, and he heard, there was Nick, Catherine, but he couldn't think. He couldn't stop looking at Will, feeling the thick wash of terror in him, and wanting just to go home, because if they went home, Will would make it stop.

Will knew how to make it stop, because he had before.

Will knew. Fuck. He had to, and maybe Greg was whispering, or yelling, just begging him to fix it. To make it stop.

"I will. I will. We'll go back to the hotel." And Will had, no, Greg had something there. Greg had it; it was his prescription. He had something to make it stop, and Will would make sure he got it. "I'm sorry. I thought it would help, seeing them again. I'm sorry."

Sorry because maybe it did. Maybe it would have, but he couldn't. Couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stumble along, Will's arm around him, and he ignored everything else, refused to listen to anything that was going on, listen to any of them.

He couldn't afford to listen.

There was too much in his head already.

 

Heat.

Heat was bliss, home was better, and whatever drugs Will was giving him were so, so good.

It wasn't really 'whatever' drugs. There were doctors' appointments and Will squinting at prescription labels and occasionally bitching at pharmacists who put the wrong milligram pill in the wrong bottle. Not that there was a right bottle for that, but. He knew what he was taking and he didn't know, because he didn't process it, didn't want to, and just let it slip away.

It was nicer to lie out on the sand with a beanbag pillow under his head and watch Will work on boats.

This was something he'd done before -- something he kind of remembered now, distantly, in a not-real kind of way. There were a lot of things he remembered that way, and the drugs were a fantastic way of continuing to think about those things only vaguely.

Will said he'd be coming down off of them soon, slowly, increments down and back, but that was distant, too, and he'd been off of them before. Except they were never leaving Mexico again. Greg was sure of that, and that Will wouldn't put him through it again.

They hadn't told anybody in Vegas where they lived, so it wasn't as if Gil was going to show up and have some kind of rehash of a scene he never wanted to think about again. Ever.

Just touching at it with his mind made his brain want to skitter away. It wasn't Will's fault. Will had shielded him from it, had tried. Will, who was climbing out of the engine compartment, wiping his fingers with a rag while he walked, before he hopped down to the sand from the dock.

"Hey." Greg let his mouth curl up in a lazy smile, hand dabbling lightly in the sand. "C'mon down."

Will plodded over towards him, and then sat down cross-legged beside him on the sand, briefly, before he stretched out on his back. "Uhm."

Uhm, yeah, and Greg rolled over lazily to slip his arm across Will's belly. It would be too hot to stay that way for long, but for a moment, it was definitely nice. "Y'know." He pushed up on an elbow and looked at him over the top of his sunglasses. "Don't think I ever thanked you."

"You don't ever have to thank me." Will meant it, meant it fiercely, but if Greg wanted to lean in and kiss him senseless, he knew Will wouldn't say no. It was the first urge he'd had beyond the weird drugged numbness, and so he gave in to it, and sprawled over him to get as much of a kiss as he could.

He liked the weird drugged numbness better than gnawing horror, though, liked sun and sand and Will, Will kissing him back, fingers in his hair, pulling him in close. They were sweaty, gritty, and he didn't really care. Mostly, he just wanted to keep kissing, and lie there, and be better.

Yes. He was better, and Greg felt a sudden flood of relief that made him huff a breath against Will's lips and relax. Huh.

"Hi." Will pulled back, hair mashed against sand as he peered at Greg. "I love you."

He was good with that. He was himself, for the first time in a long time, maybe, and Greg smiled at him, licking his lips slowly. "You know... I love you, too."

"I know." He could tell from Will's relaxed eyes, his easy posture as he kept Greg clutched close. Will really did know, and if things had started off because he was fucked up and weird, well. He was still fucked up and weird, but so was Will sometimes. There were worse things than that, a lot worse things, and he thought, one thing and another, that was something they could live with.


End file.
